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Thug Life. Petty Crimes of Wannabe Gangsters Started by: Scarfo on Jan 28, '15 15:39

Shortly after the takedown of The Mountains Beyond & The Forest Below

The streets were quieter than usual. The latest outbreak of violence had somewhat pacified the recently noisy and chaotic clambering of Mafioso. Some may have been scared to venture out, or it may have been due to the ever increasing volume of dust blowing about. Whatever the reason, it had a somewhat eerie feel.

Some shops were closing as business was starting to dye down for the day. Two young punks were on the prowl. They walked the South Philly district with an eye out for potential targets. Not the meanest or most respectful up-and-comers, yet money to them was as good as their next meal. Anything easy would do, and the old innocent lady crossing the street lit up green all over.

They nudged one another as soon as she came into view. The poor praying on the innocent. In recent times this kind of thing wouldn’t even be on the cards. Godmother Whatsername wouldn’t have it. Sure, crime was about. Even more so than now. The difference was she kept things on an even keel. Things had order, structure, and not just any young fuck could do as they pleased. Times though, had changed.

The two thugs walked casually toward the old lady shuffling down the sidewalk. A business owner closing up shop immediately knew the score, and quickly ducked inside. She probably would’ve caught on too, if she weren’t so old and she still had her wits about her. By the time they were passing one another, it was too late.

One thug grabbed at her purse whilst the other muscled up and pushed her backwards. She fell straight on her ass. Poor old women. Nothing she could do but scream as the sidewalk broke her fall, her pride and most likely her hip.

“Help! Somebody! My purse!”

“Shut up you old bag!”

One laid a solid boot into her ribs for good measure before they ran off down the street, laughing. A sad state of the times as thugs and criminals alike could do as they pleased without a heavy hand and a persistent street tax to keep things in check. Some though, made it work in their favour.

The two young punks had put a good distance between themselves and the scene of the crime. They came to a halt on a quieter portion of the street. Young enthusiasm and growing ego had them celebrating their victory. As they opened the purse to gather the spoils a voice with an Italian accent rang out from a shadowy corner of a nearby alley.

“You stupid fucks. You know who runs this block? You best hand that shit over or you’ll end up worse than that old lady.”

One of the thieves arced up and cautioned back, still reeling from his latest success.

“Aye! What’s it to you, eh? Mind your business! Or pay the price!”

A second voice with an Irish accent resounded out from the darkness as the figures began to edge forward into the area lit by a nearby streetlamp.

“You really should learn to take instructions better. We ain’t jokin’ ‘ere. Cough it up.”

Two similar styled young thugs made themselves known, and seen. They didn’t look anything more in the way of dress than the two thieves, yet they seemed to carry themselves a little differently. Almost calmer, more composed. They all stood face to face with one another; the purse thieves looking a little tenser and defensive, the shadow dwellers more relaxed. The lead extortionist spoke first and confirmed their intentions once more as he looked directly at the young thug holding the purse.

“We just want you to give us what you owe, and walk away. Nobody has to get hurt here.”

“We got this fair and square! These streets are ripe for the picking! Fuck off already!”

The Irish-American and Italian-American pair looked at each other. The Italian looking guy giving a little shrug and smirk before they both lunged at and attacked the purse pilferers. Punches immediately flew and connected, a knee to the stomach, another punch to the side of the head and the attackers had their victims on the ground in moments.

The duo kept the attack going with continuous kicks to the gut and face, as both thieves lay on the ground in defensive positions being beaten and helpless to stop the attacks. Salvatore 'Scarfo' Arcidiacono and his young partner in crime Georgio Callahan decided to claim this area as their own. Any unwanted attacks would come with a price. Any business dealt would come with a tax. Times had changed. That meant new Mafioso spawned onto the scene in search of wealth, power, fame, respect and anything else their self-ambition clung to.

Scarfo had a hunger in his belly and some slick boxing experience to back it up. Violence was something that gave him a spark and he was also quickly learning power over others felt good. He and Georgio were neighbours and the two always wanted to be gangsters from an early age. Scarfo’s father being the well-respected Salvatore ‘Scriba’ Arcidiacono, played a big influence in their childhoods both directly and indirectly.

Scarfo was the kind that aggression came natural to. Not with his words, or his threats, just his actions. He carried himself quite composed yet didn’t hesitate to strike with sudden violent bouts of fury. He loved the rush of adrenaline pumping through his nervous system. Ironically the feeling of control also lit him up; power turned him on like nothing else.

Scarfo bent down and looked upon the two attackers turned victims as Georgio picked up the purse.

“You two do shit like this again on this corner, and it’ll be more than a beating. We run this area now.”

Georgio pulled at Scarfo’s arm and the two walked off back toward the South Philly business district.

Snatching purses and conning poor shlub’s; just part of the life of a wannabe gangster.

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